


Wondrous Fool

by maliciousfisheeves



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, gough and ciaran made a bet, literally only fluff, ornstein has a hard time with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-26 01:56:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7555642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maliciousfisheeves/pseuds/maliciousfisheeves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ornstein fell in love. Oh no.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wondrous Fool

**Author's Note:**

> AHHhhh yeah I was super... scared to write this but also really excited. I never really found a lot of shipfics with these two that were fluff so I decided to write some.  
> It's more or less pining turns to love, but I wasn't sure if there's a tag for that.

            Ornstein twitched his mouth to the side for a second, staring down at his feet. He hated being out of armor, and he hated… _parties._ Combining the two was equally displeasing.

            Well, to call it a party wasn’t necessarily correct, but he hated most elaborate social/political gatherings no matter what they were called—he hated that he had to smile and talk to people he didn’t really know, and he especially hated having to do so without his lion helmet guarding his face.

             His armor had a familiar weight; the fancy cloth he was currently wearing was certainly _not_ that weight, and above all it made him feel terribly vulnerable, like he was a shell-less turtle.

            He was glad Ciaran and Gough felt similarly. Gough didn’t exactly dress up and Ciaran had parallel distrust in cloth’s ability to block pointy objects. This would normally be when Artorias would tell them to relax, but even he hated extravagant assemblies—so much so he appeared to have ditched and ran off to a corner to hide in.

            Ornstein was mad mostly because he didn’t feel it was fair that Artorias had left them to cover-up his absence, but also because it was irresponsible—they all had to suffer. _Together_. For Lord’s Gwyn’s sake.

 

            “I could go find him.” Ciaran offered, putting her hands up as offering the idea on a plate.

 

            “No, thou dost not get to scurry off as well.” Ornstein huffed, Ciaran deflating a little.

 

            Gough sighed, “Oh well, it’s probably for the best. Sir Artorias is not exactly personable, that and well…” he trailed off as Ornstein gave him a look that may as well have killed someone.

 

            Ornstein crossed his arms but held his tongue; he couldn’t say what he wanted to out loud with all the other prying ears. It was bad enough that Gough already knew.

 _Of course_ Gough had to know—the archer was surprisingly quiet when he wanted to be, so of course on a very bad night during a very wine-induced rant he’d overheard Ornstein talk to himself. He didn’t think Gough meant to eavesdrop, but he did anyway.

            Despite the alcohol, Ornstein remembered very clearly his own phrasing;

 

            “Foolish knight with his foolish… everything! He has injured me and he dost not even know!” he’d hissed.

 

            He had been pacing around his chambers, figuring he was alone.

 

            “Fool, utter fool. I thought I was unable to be harmed in such ways, but HA!” he’d laughed bitterly before flopping into bed unceremoniously.

            It was but two moments later that a very timid but otherwise loud voice asked,

 

            “Mine captain…?”

 

            Ornstein shrieked, and that was the end of that. They did not speak a word over it, but Ornstein knew Gough was smart enough to put two and two together.

            Knight Captain. Dragonslayer. One of the Four knights of Gwyn, reduced to raving to himself about a crush—truly demeaning.

            He _really_ wanted to find somewhere to hide himself after Gough and Ciaran shuffled away; he didn’t want anyone to know, let alone the two who were most likely to put him in a situation where he’d be alone. With Artorias.

            It was not out of malice, they were good friends and he’d have no other companions—but they were not subtle. For an assassin and an archer, they were both personally as blunt as clubs if it was in matters not principally sensitive to them.

 

            Ornstein entertained the guests as best he could—giving weird, strained, ‘welcoming’ smiles and shaking hands, bearing his duties for as long as possible. His chats were brief and somewhat stoic, but not too forward. He hoped to distract himself when lo’, Artorias finally entered.

            He was clad in a similar decorative garb as the other knights, but he looked good; not at all awkward, and he seemed to have actually cleaned up a bit. It made Ornstein’s heart flutter a bit before he wrestled it back into place.

            He maneuvered to get out of eyesight of the man, but Ornstein was taller than almost everyone attending, so the idea of shifting through the crowd without being noticed was immediately out of the picture.

            Artorias spotted him and made his way through.

 

            “Forgive mine lateness, Captain. I was trying to look somewhat more agreeable.” Artorias’s voice was smooth and sincere, once again sending Ornstein’s heart aflutter.

 

            He really wanted to punch himself. If he simply knocked his own lights out there and then it would be _so_ much easier.

            He scowled, unbeknownst to himself, and his eyes only just picked up the forming hurt expression on Artorias’s face.

 

            “I am truly sorry, thou knowst.” Artorias mumbled quietly, putting his hands together.

 

            “Thou dost not needst be, I am simply… elsewhere.” Ornstein responded quickly, pulse accelerating.

 

            This was ridiculous—the thought of upsetting this man, unintentionally, scared him, when so often he and Artorias ‘argued’ quite playfully, and they spoke a lot quite casually to each other, and—Wait. Dear gods, how long had he been developing this crush— _oh no_. This was his fault.

            Artorias must have noticed sudden revelation, at least on some level, because he spoke again,

 

            “Dost thou wish to converse about… it?” Artorias asked gently, reaching a hand out.

 

            Ornstein didn’t mean to pull his hands back, but he did. He did stop himself from shouting **_“NO!”_** in Artorias’s face, however.

            Artorias’s face turned to that of one with resolve, and he grabbed Ornstein’s hand, yanking him into a march out of the festivity. Ornstein, too dazed to put up any physical resistance, instead put up a weak protest.

 

            “But what of the event?” he asked half-heartedly, truly perfectly fine with leaving, besides perhaps the one small part of his mind that was unbearable rule driven, and the other part that did not wish to be dragged off alone. With Artorias.

 

            “They won’t miss us.” Artorias answered firmly.

 

            Ornstein swore he saw that Artorias’s face was a deep red, but it was difficult to tell as they got further and further away from the lights of the celebration.

            Not too long after, he’d brought Ornstein to a secluded place—totally devoid of people, containing high bookshelves, tables and a few chairs. He thought he saw something flicker behind a bookshelf, but Artorias halted any investigation.

 

            “Thou hast been avoiding me. What hast I done? How canst I repair mine mistakes?” Artorias asked, turning to ensure eye contact, keeping his face forward and now holding both his hands hostage.

 

            “Thou hast done nothing, I am afraid I am at fault—I cannot say, I’m afraid.” He said quietly.

 

            Artorias furrowed his eyebrows, his black eye glittered with some unfamiliar light.

 

            “Afraid thou canst not tell me, or afraid of me?” the chilling question floated into the night air.

 

            Ornstein stuttered unfruitfully for a second, tensing his muscles. What to say? How to answer? If he told him he’d been nursing a most painful crush for years, which had bloomed like some terrible flower a short time ago, would Artorias scoff and turn him down? Would he say no and leave an unbearable tension between them? What _if_ he said yes?

            He felt like he was drowning in a sea of emotions he never asked for. A hive of snakes that had welcomed themselves into his heart, all because a wonderful, foolish man named Artorias had somehow managed to capture his affections.

            For a brief moment, he felt… fuzzy? He could see concern in Artorias’s face, and then it began to dawn upon him that it didn’t matter if he said no—he would always have Artorias very close to him, friend or something else.

 

            “Please, old friend, please tell me.” Artorias asked, his grip had loosened until he was only just holding on to Ornstein’s wrists.

 

            He took a deep breath, and chose his words carefully.

 

            “I have sustained an injury of sorts—it is by mine own doing, but it has stewed long enough—I love thee. I was afraid of thee, but only by mine own account, mine own doing. I apologize that this is awfully sudden, but it is the truth.”

 

            He let a long breath out, hoping to stop the lump in his throat or his eyes from burning any longer, but even in that moment, though he trusted Artorias, he was deathly afraid that his trust was about to be ruined.

            Artorias’s mind seemed to have frozen, staring with his eyes wide and entire body stiff.

 

 _Oh no._ Ornstein thought _. I broke him._

After a long, painful silence of Ornstein trying hard not to cry, Artorias laughed. For a second Ornstein was ready to either combust from shame or punch himself in the face, but before either could happen Artorias grabbed his shoulders and started jumping up and down, laughing gleefully, perhaps one of the most joyous sounds Ornstein had heard in a very long time, if not a bit bewildering.

 

            “Gods, I thought somehow thou hadst gotten word and hadst been shunning me!” Artorias explained with relief washing off of him in the form of a small tear.

 

            “No no, not at all—wait, dost thou express similar affections?” Ornstein asked, still a bit confused by the jumping and the overwhelming feelings of whether or not to get excited.

 

            “Yes! With all mine heart, yes!” Artorias suddenly picked him up and spun him around, and they both laughed.

 

            Perhaps it was childish, or sappy, but the feeling of validation, relief and joy was simply so much they had to laugh and cry like two children, or perhaps two fools. They didn’t care.

            Artorias put him down long enough for a brief kiss, which Ornstein was sure would make him melt, but was shortened when Artorias started laughing again.

 

 

 

            “I told thee so.” Gough conceited jokingly, elbowing Ciaran a bit from her perch on top of a shelf.

 

            “How couldst I know Sir Ornstein wouldst like him as well? I only spoke with Sir Artorias on the matter.” Ciaran huffed with a small smile.

 

            Gough softened his laugh, motion to leave the two so they wouldn’t be suddenly embarrassed—also because Ornstein would most likely yell at them for leaving him to deal with the party goers on his own.

            Ciaran was quite pleased with herself nonetheless (despite his disdain for returning to the party) as she’d managed to get Artorias to confront Ornstein about his feelings. The man could be quite anxious if given the right situation.

 

            “But he hast been avoiding me!” Artorias had complained, throwing up his hands.

 

            “Then find him! Ornstein avoids problems when he can, which includes people.” Ciaran had simply said, waving off the idea.

           

            “What if he hates me after I speak?” Artorias groaned, burying his face in his hands.

 

            “He will not hate thee, now go! Talk to him!” Ciaran pushed Artorias’s shoulder a bit, though the effectiveness was questionable.

 

            Ciaran was satisfied—even if her efforts left her with ten coins less and greeting duty. No matter, if her two idiot friends finally talked to each other about their feelings, then she was happy—so long as they didn’t get too… mushy.

 

 

 

            Ornstein kissed the top of Artorias’s hand in an almost overly chivalrous way, making Artorias laugh a little.

 

            “Well, I believe there’s a party to go to. Let us hope Lord Gwyn will not be too mad?” Artorias asked as they interlocked fingers.

 

            Ornstein agreed and they began to walk back, through the deserted moonlit city, the warm glow still burning, but the darkness of the night creeping in little by little.

            Ornstein said nothing for a long time, instead focusing on the feeling of having his hand held. Artorias’s hands were surprisingly warm, and knit comfortably into his own. It made him smile.

            The pleasantness of the idea was keeping the darker parts of the revelation at bay for a time. The moonlight reflecting off the rooves, dipping between the tall buildings and illuminating their way only a little bit was slowly being undercut by the growing gold glow of the party.

 

            “Thou knowst we cannot… display this _now_ , correct?” Ornstein asked, looking away, but still keeping their hands together. He turned to face Artorias while enough shadows enveloped them to remain hidden.

 

            “I do, but all will be well.” he responded knowingly.

 

            Artorias lifted himself a bit off the ground, off tips of his toes, taking his free hand to caress Ornstein’s face whilst he kissed his forehead for a moment.

 

            “All will be well.” Ornstein repeated to himself, letting the softer feelings lessen his anguish, even if it was just for the time being.


End file.
